


I Think I Forgot to Forgive You

by Zeona



Series: Can You Recall The Sequence of Events Right? [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brain Damage, Brain Surgery, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s03e06 Dolce, Violence, poor understanding for medical thingies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeona/pseuds/Zeona
Summary: Deals with the aftermath of ‘A Friend Who Bleeds is A Friend You Eat’."Hannibal cuts into Will's head in Season 3, Ep 6 (Dolce). This time, there's no one there to stop him in time. Not quite."Now that Will's had his head cut open, can he recover from this?
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham & Will Graham's Father
Series: Can You Recall The Sequence of Events Right? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651069
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	1. No Forts in The Bone Area of Your Skull

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is all an alternate universe. I disliked how Alana was portrayed in S3 as she was very drastically different from the previous seasons. I also disliked how her relationships with the Vergers began and was sustained because it was very sudden, poorly explained and not extrapolated upon at all.  
> The Alana in my fic will be quite different from the S3 Alana.  
> She will not previously have had many interactions with the Vergers.  
> This means Mason doesn’t manage to catch Hannibal the way he did in S3. More things will be revealed about my own hopes I had for S3 as the fic progresses (hopefully).  
> Note also that I am not medically trained so what I’ve managed to research about lobotomies, brain injuries and any other medical related content are very limited and are possibly very incorrect. Unbetad.  
> Enjoy!

Alana gets the call at 3 in the morning. It’s Jack. She knows because of the ringtone she’s set for him and she scrambles for her mobile. Hair in a mess and bra askew, she picks up the phone.

Worry and stress from such an early call forces the following questions out in a tumble of words.“Jack? Is it Hannibal? Have you caught him? What’s happened?” For a moment, nothing but heavy, shaky breathing echoes through the speaker that makes her own breath catch in her throat. “Jack?”

The break in his breath and the trembling exhale makes her heart constrict. “Dr Bloom… Alana you need to come to France.” In her mind’s eye, blood and death trails after Hannibal. His brand of artistic ruin sending policemen into a frenzy.

“What’s happened, Jack? Are you hurt? Where’s Hannibal? Will?” She’s already dumping clothes and undergarments into her luggage but she’s frantic to know what’s going on. She needs to know. She's been waiting for a response for too long

“You need to come and see- hear this for yourself.”

\---------------------------------------------

“It was a very savage craniotomy. He knew what he was doing, alright. Pieces of his dorsolateral prefrontal cortex completely removed. Cleanly. And mostly on the right side.” The accent is light, the ‘r’s gently rolled and vowels only slightly muted. “ Mr Graham’s skull unfortunately, not as neatly as that. Going to be very ugly scarring, that one.” Dr Delmas ran a thumb through the edges of the papers attached to his clipboard. His compassion is present but he seems distracted, unaware of the confused anxiety filling Alana’s chest to overfull.

“What does that mean? Is he going to survive?” Jack looked as if he was wrestling the urge to grip the man by his coat, to shake the answers out of him.

“My apologies, Agent Crawford.” Dr Delmas pulled at the folded corners of his tucked in shirt before looking Jack in the eyes. “Essentially, this Hannibal character of yours has severely damaged the part of Mr Graham’s brain that’s responsible for emotions and motor skills, among others. He’s going to be a very different man if he wakes up. And he very well might - it was a very surgical procedure, despite its crude execution. He’s stable, but I won’t be allowing him any visitors at the moment. He’s in a delicate state right now.”

Alana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Can we see him, at least?”

Dr Delmas stroked the lapels of his coat before nodding. With a small gesture indicating the two to follow him, he turns on his heels and heads down the corridor. They reach a room with a closed, wood print door. Alana approaches the strip of window glass in the door with trepidation. When she peers inside, she can see Will buried beneath equipment and blankets. 

There’s a tube up his nose and his face is swollen. The bandages wrap around his head tightly, hiding any sign of his unruly curls. She wonders if they’ve shaved his hair off. It seems a strange and odd thought and most certainly insignificant in the light of what’s happened to him. Just the same, it sends her into another bout of quiet crying and she has to turn away from the door, folding her arms close to her and hiding her face beneath a cupped palm. 

Jack takes a quick second to look behind her at Will before his large, warm palm presses against the back of her shoulder. He murmurs something to Dr Delmas before gently guiding her into the canteen. It takes a good ten minutes before she can even pull together the scraps of her composure, breaths hiccupy and face nearly as red and ballooned as Will’s was. She swears under her breath.

“I’m sorry Jack. Here I am crying my eyeballs out of my skull when you’ve just witnessed something terrible. First hand, no less,” she sniffles. Jack hands her another tissue and she discards the soaked and crumpled one she had in her hand into the increasingly large pile of balled up tissues.

“No need to apologize.” His voice is soft, rumbling and somber. “I’ve had time to vent before you came.” 

The two sit in comfortable, if worried, silence. A single sniff comes from Alana. “I should call his dad. I know that they weren’t on good terms but…” Alana pulls her phone out of her pocket, running her thumb over the screen. “I should call him.” 

“Of course. It completely slipped my mind. I should have called him first. Do you want me to do it?” 

“No, no. I think getting a call from the FBI would frighten Mr Graham to death.” She gives him a half smile to let him know she’s somewhat teasing. “I’ll just step outside to make the call.”

Jack is left alone at the table, waiting for her return. He folds his hands under his nose and thinks.

_Hannibal smiles gently, hand brushing against the back of Will’s palm. “I’m glad you liked it, Will. Would you like some more?” Hannibal sets Will’s fork down, picking his own back up. Will spasms in his restraints, mouth slightly agape and working around empty words. He takes in a raspy breath but doesn’t respond._

_Hannibal holds the cut of the brain to his lips, holding it there to take a deep inhale of the smell of cooked flesh. His eyelashes flutter, senses seemingly overridden by whatever he is feeling. He practically purrs in content, lips pulled wide in a close lipped smile. He places the piece of brain into his mouth._

_“Just as exquisite as you are, my dear Will,” Hannibal hums, eyes opening to gaze at Will. Jack’s fists curl closed every so slowly. Hannibal turns to look at Jack. “Not going to indulge, Agent Crawford?” Hannibal questions, tilting his fork-holding hand his way. “It’s truly quite delicious. I assure you. It will blow your mind away,” he smirks._

_“You’re an animal. Nothing more than a beast,” Jack snarls, words still slowed by the drugs in his system. His brow is furrowed, face so full of righteous anger and sadness his features tremble with its intensity._

_“No need to be discourteous, Jack. Will isn’t your common pig, as you’re so prone to treat him as.” Hannibal pushes himself up from the table and reaches for the knife. “Feeding him lies about saving people before throwing him to the wolves?” Hannibal glances at the piece of brain on Jack’s plate. “I have more tact than that. I ensure the process is quite painless.”_

_Will blinks sluggishly through the blood, a soft and strangled whine slipping from his throat. Hannibal steps forward and slices into Will’s brain._

Jack breathes out shakily, the memory burning hot in his mind like Will’s brain on Hannibal’s stove. Alana’s finger taps on the table to get his attention. 

“I called his dad. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. I also went to check with Dr Delmas while you were vacationing in your head and he said he’ll allow visitors the day after if nothing crops up.” 

Jack blinks the vision from his eyes, clearing his throat and getting to his feet unsteadily. “Yeah. Yeah, thank you, Alana.”

She looks at him and Jack wonders if he looks as horrible as he feels. Tired and stripped emotionally raw enough that he feels it physically, gnawing at his chest and making his stomach roil. She must see something in his eyes because she folds her lips together to dampen them, before opening her mouth.

“You okay, Jack? I know it's hard enough on me as it is but you look like you haven’t slept.”

Jack huffs. “It’s been… a long few days, Alana, but I think I’ll be alright.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Richard Graham has not had a great relationship with his son in a long time. Somewhere along William’s teenage years, the two males had drifted apart. Thanks in part to Bill’s heavy drinking following the divorce and William’s slow self-seclusion. 

When William was much younger and less swamped by his own emotions and that of others, Richard had spent days sitting William on his lap, holding small warm hands around a fishing rod. They would spend hours in the woods after hauling in enough fish to last the day. The boy had been prone to pick up stray animals during those trips. Birds usually, and on one very memorable occasion, a small coyote the boy had mistaken for a dog.

Then, school had started and so had the bullying. William was resilient, if not stubborn. He soldiered through the fights, placed well aimed fists, held his ground and studied through his exams. Richard had tried to help his son, but truly had found little interest in how he fared in school. Practical things were what made up Richard Graham. His then-wife on the other hand had been quite a terror. 

She was always resentful of what little money he raked in from his boat fixing job down by the lake. Insisted that William did not end up like his ‘useless bum of a father’ and drilled him endlessly. She didn’t care that William wasn’t like most boys his age. He had good recall for events that had happened and was certainly very perceptive but his social skills suffered tremendously. She smacked him around good whenever he acted what she deemed was ‘unacceptably rude’ although Richard personally thought that Will was simply just unable to express himself well enough at that age.

Then the divorce and the relief had come, but he hadn’t handled it well then either. Suffering from his own abandonment issues, Richard had neglected most of his fatherly duties in favor of nursing a good bottle of beer and a night at the gambling table. Shoved a fifty at his son over the breakfast table and forgot about him until two days later. 

He never slapped Will like his ex-wife did, but when Will turned seventeen, the record changed from zero to one. His ex-wife had called over some money issues, and he had drunk a little too much. Came home to Will packing up to leave Louisiana for New Orleans. _“Forensic science, dad,”_ he’d snapped back at the slurred demand as to where he was going. There had been a moment of incomprehension, just the thought that his son was leaving him, just like everybody else had. 

_“University. You don’t even know, do you? You missed my early graduation, dad. Top of the class? Remember that? No?”_ William had huffed, almost condescendingly. _“Your head’s so stuck up inside your arse over an ex-wife you don’t even love, you can’t even be bothered about the son you still have. Had.”_ Richard didn’t know what had overtaken him that day. Still doesn’t know what inside him thought that throwing hands with his son would change his mind about leaving but his drunk mind had told him to do it anyway instead of talking it out.

The fight had been pathetically short. William had been going to the gym at some point and Richard had had his ass handed to him. With a bow tied on top. After setting his own father’s butt down on the couch, William had pushed a cup of coffee into his hands, stared at him for a moment before leaving without a word.

That had been the end of it. Over the years it was just a postcard with the only words being _‘from Will’_ written on the back every Christmas, and a short call from Richard that William made sure lasted exactly one minute and twenty seconds every birthday,

Only a single call had come from William himself (it seems to be in the Graham way to do things rarely, and if ever, only once). 6am, mobile ringing terribly loud in the dawn of the day. Richard hadn’t even picked up the phone because he’d been fishing. He wonders, after, if that horrible timing had ruined their tenuous relationship even more. William had left a voicemail and had ignored the consequent call from Richard. 

_“Don’t say anything, Dad. I just… I needed to call you. I’ve not… I’ve not been doing so well. Remember that time I had to go to that psychiatric ward at_ _Bethesda Naval Hospital?”_ Richard did. That had been a tough time for William. The postcard that year had had water stains and scratched out words. And his phone number passed to a one Dr Alana Bloom to get somewhat frequent updates while William had stayed there. _“I… I think I might be going crazy again, dad. It’s- I had a doctor look at me, I’m- I’m going in for an appointment tomorrow evening but they still haven’t found anything.” There was heavy breathing and the sound of too many huffing breaths - dogs listening in to a one sided conversation._

_“Just… I just needed to hear your voice to make sure I was sane but I guess you’re not here. Like always. Good times, right, dad?” A strained chuckle. “Maybe if I’d heard your voice it would’ve convinced me I was insane. Maybe it's better if you’re not here at all.”_

Then, the whole murder thing had happened and Richard had been very tempted to travel to Baltimore. His son was a wild boy at heart. Unpredictable and quirky by nature and despite the fact that it had been more than a decade since he truly knew and met his son after that drunken night, he knew in his heart his son was innocent.

Thankfully, the papers never caught wind of him since he and his son had such a strained and practically non-existent relationship, and with those two things in mind, he’d chosen to stay in Louisiana. Then Will had been released, the call from Richard ignored, and not horribly long after, Will had become the ‘Cannibal Catcher’, even if no one had been caught yet. Those short years had been filled with absences; no post cards and no received or returned calls.

Now, Richard sat on the plane, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. An eight hour journey ahead of him and he’s never been very fond of planes. But this time, he’s going to be there. He’s not going to be just a phone call away. He’s going to be right next to his William. This time, he’ll fight anyone who had and might hurt his boy. 

Cannibal or not.


	2. For Things You Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard reaches France. He meets Agent Jack Crawford. Will doesn't have a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More gore and Hannibal stuff. The usual. Unbetaed

Richard dumped his duffel onto the bed. The motel room reeked of something like piss, smoke and whiskey, giving him a mild headache. The walls and ceiling had terribly white-stained-grey peeling paint and the blanket looked worn and barely thin enough to be held together as it was. A quick look in the bathroom and Richard swore to himself to only take quick showers in there and do any other business at a mall. 

He plucked his phone off the lumpy mattress and headed out to meet Agent Crawford. He’d heard about the man. Through news articles and interviews and certainly not from his son. It felt strange to meet all these people in William’s life all of a sudden when only hours prior, he was simply a wavering shadow haunting the tiniest fraction of William’s existence. 

Agent Crawford turned out to be a very gruff looking man with a gentle if rough voice.

“Mr Graham, good to meet you.” Agent Crawford gets up from his seat, thrusting his hand out. “A shame it's under these circumstances.” They clasp each other’s forearms and Richard is impressed by the firm muscles under his fingers. He'd thought the man would be hiding some padding beneath the square jaw and while he's certainly not 'ripped', he's definitely got his fat under control. He also notes that he has to crane his neck just a fraction to look Agent Crawford in the eyes.

"Dr Bloom tol’ me that the doc here won't allow visitors. But I can see William, yeah?” He brushes stray curls from the corners of his eyes to avoid fidgeting with his fingers. Agent Crawford gives a looming presence, pressing close just right outside Richard’s zone of ‘personal space’ with a fierce and directed stare. Unintentional and likely just a product of confidence and natural suspiciousness but it still puts Richard off a little. 

Agent Crawford seems to notice that Richard is growing nervous under the scrutiny and tries to bring a little friendliness to his voice.

“Of course, Mr Graham. But, er, visits are allowed tomorrow if things go smoothly with Will,” Agent Crawford says, giving a slightly strained smile. They walk alongside each other towards the lift and Richard is acutely aware of how he is only just a few inches shorter, the tops of his head only coming up to the tip of Agent Crawford’s nose.

“Your son was- is a spectacular agent, Mr Graham. You should be very proud of him,” Agent Crawford says to fill the silence of the elevator, side-eyeing him.

Richard chuckles, his laughter tinted by bitterness and regret. “I know he’s special, Agent Crawford. Always too attached to the world but also too separate, y’know?” Agent Crawford glances away and hums in understanding. “Tell me, Agent… You were there when my son was hurt. What happened?”

The muscles in Agent Crawford’s jaw tighten and jump. “Mr Graham…”

“What. Happened.”

_ Hannibal has taken at least three servings, small cubes of brain polished off right before Jack's eyes. His nose is clogged with snot and hot tears. His eyes are warmed behind the sockets and he feels sick.  _

_ “Why are you doing this, Hannibal? This is- this is madness beyond you.” _

_ Hannibal shifts, pressing the knife flat onto the table, tweaking it with a thumb and pointer so it rests perpendicular to the edge. Will is leaning forward, blood dripping onto his plate. He looks incredibly pale as if he himself might vomit. Jack wishes that Will was at least knocked out for the count.  _

_ “There were a great many things that went wrong that night,” Hannibal rumbles, his voice so soft it is almost a whispered breath. Jack doesn’t need to know which night he’s talking about. There is only one night that matters. “You see, Jack, Will isn’t a steady pendulum you can choose when to start and stop.” _

_ Hannibal leans forward, folding his hands together and resting his forearm on the sides of the table. “He is destined for more than the leash. His potential to see and connect with the darkness is unique. It can be even more beautiful should he become it, but you press him in all the wrong ways that his vision of it has clouded. Warped so that he is split in two. He cannot fully be the darkness if you insist that he has to be both, Jack. His killer instinct is what makes him one of the greatest creatures I have ever seen.” _

_ “And you… think you can bring out his… potential… by eating him?” Jack is confused and he thinks that Hannibal might be confused too. Though the man has always struck Jack as poised and in control of every single thought, he thinks that he’s never seen Hannibal this way before. There’s something off about him. _

_ Hannibal breathes harshly through his nose although a smile graces his lips. “I think, Jack, that you are a lesser creature than Will Graham. You cannot see the darkness in beasts, although you wish you could. Arrogance blinds you, just as you have blinded Will. You see but you don’t understand. Not so intimately as Will.” _

_ He turns to the bleeding boy sitting at the table and in Jack’s eyes, Will Graham warps into the young man he first met at the Evil Minds Research Museum. Face dark and cloudy as he had scoffed at the name.  _

_ ‘It’s ridiculous. “Evil Minds”? I doubt you truly understand what “Evil Minds” mean.” Jack had felt insulted, then. Had thought that the teenager was thinking too highly of himself. “Few of these men are truly so depraved as that. Oh, their acts, hah, definitely.” Will had taken his spectacles off, wiping them aggressively with a scornful look in the set of his jaw. “But ‘evil minds’? No, no, Agent Crawford. Most of them are just delusional. Not ‘evil’. You wouldn’t know evil until you look it straight in the eyes. And it’ll be too late by then, because it’d have devoured you alive.” _

_ Then everything blinks into the present and Will is sitting, head bloodied and cracked open, across from Jack.  _

_ “No, not so intimately as Will,” Hannibal says more to himself than to Jack. Then he rises again. _

_ “Stop, Hannibal. Enough… Leave him alone… You’ve taken enough from Will.” _

_ Hannibal smiles sadly and strokes the inside of Will’s wrist. “Didn’t you take more than your fill too, Jack? We can’t all be selfish, can we?” _

_ “Stop!” This time, it doesn’t come from Jack. It comes from behind him. A stampede of boots and the click of guns explodes into the silence of the room. He slumps in utter relief. Hannibal looks only slightly disappointed as he calmly deposits the knife back onto the table and kneels with his hands behind his head. _

_ A flurry of movement as Hannibal is escorted past Jack, his head held high. He doesn’t even spare a glance at Will sitting limp at the table. Jack hears retching sounds behind him as someone catches sight of Will’s split open brains. Someone steps into his line of sight, their faces large in his blurred vision. _

_ “Mr Crawford?” Every consonant is overly enunciated and sharp in comparison to Hannibal’s soft vowels,  _

_ “Will… Get an ambulance… He’s still alive…” Jack slurs, the drugs still running heavily in his system. He doesn’t care about himself - he will come out of it unscathed. Physically. The inspector, for it is clear that is who he is from the way he commands the room, glances at Will. “Please… Help him…” _

They stand, silent outside the glass window to William’s room. Richard is pressed close to the pane, hand fisted on the handle of the door but it doesn’t press down to unlatch and open the barrier between them. His boy is laid out on the sheets like a body in a morgue. His head has been bandaged to a thick bulb, almost comical if not for the frightening sight of the tubes and wires and beeping machines.

It has been almost a whole decade since he last saw William and the changes shock him.. His son’s smooth cheek is lightly peppered with a scruff. Muscled bulk wraps the once skinny frame although that is diminished by the thick blankets. His jaw is broader and Richard thinks for a moment that he might be looking at a younger, if subtly different version of himself.

“Couldn’t always understand him, me. Ne’r wanted to be understood either, that boy,” Richard murmurs, his voice wet with emotion. “Might never get the chance to, now….”

“I’m sorry, Mr Graham. He was my responsibility.” Richard turns to look up at Agent Crawford. He smiles, eyes crinkling, but it is false. 

“No, Agent Crawford. It’s Lecter’s.”

\---------------------------------------------------

_ It’s dark. Thick viscous black that presses in on all sides and when Will tries to swim through it it tangles like twisting cloth around his limbs. He remembers blood. So much of it. It looks black in the moonlight. He opens his mouth as cold shock consumes him. The black liquid rushes in, behind his teeth, twisting at his tongue like a savage lover digging in for a feast. He tastes sweet metal and bitter rust.  _

_ When he blinks, he’s in the river. He looks down and sees that he’s holding a fishing rod. There are sutures going through his palm, tying it together so he has no choice but to hold on to it. He is frozen, unable to move despite all attempts to jerk against whatever it is that glues him to the cold water rushing past his feet. _

_ Then, the fish rod reels the catch in. The handles spin without a master, going faster and faster. Something darkens and shadows the water before breaking the surface. He gasps and jerks harder but nothing in him moves. Hannibal’s head, hook through his skull, swinging from the water. _

_ He’s panting, afraid. Cold seeps into his lungs, rakes it sharp fingers across his skin and down his spine. Horns sprout from the hook, piercing through the side of Hannibal’s skull. Blood pours like a fountain, thick and splashing down his severed neck and into the stream. _

_ The blood thickens at the neck, grows. There’s a snapping sound of bones. Creaking as Hannibal’s Head jerks on the fishing line like a puppet cut from its strings. His mouth opens and his nose pops and shifts to move with his elongating jaw. His eyes roll in their sockets, stretching the skin to impossible lengths as it shifts to the sides of his head. _

_ A ruffle of air exhaled from what appears to be a muzzle, spraying Will with blood and spit.  _

_ “Please… please…” His knuckles are white with fear, tightening around the rod because there is no alternative to let it go. _

_ The neck thickens and unfolds. Bones solidify from the running blood and as it flows and stains the white to red, the bones bulge and twist. Muscles pop and rip itself into existence, fur sticking out of it in gross clumps before spreading and covering the surface. The stag stands before him, ripping itself free from the fishing line which tears a line across its forehead.  _ _ Blood and brains gush out but the stag draws ever nearer. _

_ “Hannibal? Hannibal! Please! Jack! Alana!” He’s sobbing, mouth twisted and snot and tears staining his face. It’s ugly and raw but he’s so frightened. Frightened like he’s never been before and he can’t even thrash like it was in his dreams.  _ _ The stag nuzzles his chest, nosing at his chin. Will’s breaths come out shaky and erratic, big gulps of air that do nothing to calm him.The open skull of the stag is drawing closer and closer to his mouth. _

_ “Help me! Help me, please! I need help!” _

_ Jack suddenly appears next to him, cradling his head in a large palm. “It’s alright, Will,” he says in Hannibal’s voice. “It’s going to be alright.” Then he morphs, jaw shifting and creaking and shrinking. Hair sprouts in thick curls, tumbling down pale cheeks. _

_ “It’s the knowledge of good and evil, Will. Don’t you want a taste? They say it’s forbidden. But it will turn us into gods,” Alana purrs. She’s naked, he knows, even though he sees not even a bare breast. She strokes his cheek and when her fingers reach his scalp, it wraps tightly around his hair.  _

_ “Eat. And be filled.” Then she’s pressing him into the blood and gore before him.  _

_ He thrashes as much as he can but his body twitches and that’s all it does. When she lets him up for air and he looks down, he retches. He looks back at himself, his own head cut open and spilling across the floor of Hannibal’s kitchen.  _

_ He jerks, looking at the body he’s in. He’s on all fours like a beast, hands streaked with blood that bubbles on the titles. _

_ “H-Help me… Haaa...help, please… Please help me.” He presses his head to his body lying on the floor, bloodied curls on bloodied chest. He can hear a heartbeat but can’t feel the rise and fall of breaths. He’s shuddering, cold and hot all over. _

_ “I just want to wake up… Let me wake up… Please, let me wake up.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're liking it so far. Please give me comments. I haven't gotten around to responding to those but I do love them. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, I don't know if Richard Graham is what you would think Will's dad would be like. I've read different versions (and different names, though none of them are Richards) but my take on it is that Will's dad tries but he also sucks really bad.   
> Well. That's it for this week I think, folks. I'm writing it on the ball so even I don't know exactly where this will end up.

**Author's Note:**

> 27/9 update: Will probably rewrite what I've posted so fat because I was on crack when I wrote this apparently.
> 
> Also note that it’s difficult for me to find out the different effects right and left brain injuries cause. So if something manifests wrongly because I failed to research if it is caused by right side frontal brain trauma, my sincerest apologies. For the sake of knowledge - do point out any mistakes or flaws in my understanding. For the sake of fiction - injuries and its effects will remain the same (unless it does not greatly affect the future of this fic).


End file.
